Sixth grade was a blast, and so was the summer afterward. We swam, we played basketball, we went to the movies. My brother and I had many friends at our apartment complex. But as summer was winding down, in August, I was finding out that it was all about to end. That’s right, we were changing neighborhoods, and with it, we were changing school districts. All for my brother’s sake, who was going into high school. My family led by mom had decided we needed a better high school for my brother. But I loved my middle school. I fit in! It was fun. So I protested greatly over the summer but I was just to young. I was sacrificed. Nobody minded my wishes. I hated to change schools. My parents wanted me to stay at Ridgeview, my dear middle school, actually. They talked to the principal, but Ridgeview would not have me, if I moved; in return Ridgeview delegated a “cool and popular” teacher, a black fellow, to give me the bad news. I received a phone call from him, a last good bye from the Ridgeview community, telling me that now I would be attending Jones Middle School. I took this news flatly, as by now I had come to terms with it.
And so off I went to my first day at Jones Middle School. The funniest thing happened on that first of seventh grade. I missed the bus after school. I’m sure I must have had a terrible first day and by the time I made it out the building, feeling lost, my bus had left. I went up to another bus. “Does this bus go to ———- Rd?” I asked the driver, an old lady. She said no, but she agreed to take me home after she dropped off everybody else. I got on and noticed a couple of new friends. One was a Gothic kid who wore all black. A strange character, he hung out with a rotten crowd, but he was not too good to talk to me. The cool kids were too good for me. Another kid was Korean, with very poor English but excellent math skills. Anyway, I went on a roundabout journey which ended at some out of the way apartment complex, not even remotely near my home. Now, it was my turn to be driven home, on an entirely empty bus, and yet, even though it was entirely empty, I felt a sense of embarrassment and deep need to keep up appearances. I can’t explain whom for, because the driver, as I said was not some hot girl. She was a decrepit old thing. Yet, I could not reveal to her my true home: the cheapest apartment building on a cheap apartment block. So here’s what I did. I picked a nice street full of big houses and I told her to drop me off there! It was 10 streets away! Why did I do that? I’ll never know. I wanted to keep up appearances even if it meant walking home for 15 minutes, to impress no one. For the first time, I was in a suburb, and I now understood in order to fit in, you had to be rich.
My impressions of Jones, my new school, were weird. The inside of the school was old and almost creepy. The outside was of an English/Scots style and resembled Oxford, but I only know that now. This school was better, academically and of a finer, richer sort of crowd. All through the year I found myself ill-prepared to keep up with its serious demands. I was not a slacker; I was normal. At my old school, everybody slacked! Before I knew it, I found myself in front of the English class giving a presentation I had not prepared for. I got such horrible stage fright, my hands shook, my throat choked and I found myself unable to go on, and sat down with my tail between my legs. I developed a public speaker fear right there and then. I never gave a speech the whole year in any class. I was a public speaking failure. (In later life, I would love public speaking and even joined Toastmasters.) Far worse, I developed a hand “trembling disorder,” and could no longer perform fine hand movements without shaking, whenever I was “put on the spot”. I was terrified of trifles like writing on the chalk board or handing in quizzes or even handling cash in the cafeteria. This phobia endured till 12th grade.
The student body was strange. The class social hierarchy was led by a few popular, big, mature, and athletic boys. One boy was a descendent of the original settlers of the community. He was good at football, good at lifting, and everything he touched turned to gold. He was too good for most people, and we had little in common. But he and his friends seemed too serious for middle school. My old school was so immature. The joker kids, of whom I would also eventually find here were more to my liking. But when I looked around the class one day, I noticed everybody behaved themselves. It caught my eye that nobody looked around and tried to be cool! Being square was in! Everybody listened. There was such stiffness among the atmosphere. And the attire was completely different: Athletic clothes, so popular at my old school, were now out. Fancy casual wear like Abercrombie and Fitch was totally in. The girls were better looking, I must say. One particular girl caught my eye, and as I critiqued her during a boring class one day, I concluded she was superior and better looking than the very best girl my old school had to offer. And yet I was not converted. In my heart, I loved Ridgeview and would continue to hope for some strange miraculous second coming there for the whole year.
Socially, at first I was in the honeymoon phase. The popular boys let me eat at their lunch table. I even became friends with that very pretty girl and others like her. There was an exotic aura surrounding me. They had never seen a foreign kid from Albania before. But the conversation was bad and dull. I soon was finding out that I had no words to offer, no contribution to make, nothing meaningful to add. Likewise, their dialogue felt empty and hollow. Nothing intrigued me. Nothing excited me. We were not clicking. The only thing that bound us together was civility. They were just too polite to openly say it “Hey, you, foreign kid, we have nothing in common with you, get lost!” Well, they didn’t have to. I felt it, and so that’s what I did. After floating a bit at “worse tables”, where I also did not fit in, I soon found the foreign kids, and they were my best friends. I did contribute and I found their conversation interesting.
In terms of athletics, I did nothing! I was a soccer kid, being from Albania, and at my old school all through 6th grade I had impatiently awaited to play school soccer. I could not believe that I had to wait till 7th grade. Then once I came at Jones, I mysteriously lost all desire to participate in soccer or any and all school sports. A friend even took me to the soccer tryouts. The coach coaxed me to try out, and threw a ball at me as if to see what I could do with it. It is impossible to explain. I declined to even kick it back. Deep down in my soul, I wanted nothing to do with soccer. I wanted nothing to do with this new school. Ironically, in 11th grade my “will to play” finally returned, and of course, now soccer rejected me: despite “some talent” I was the worst, least conditioned player. I even threw up at try-outs, a disgrace and had to be ushered up to my feet by well meaning team mates, who felt sorry.
In terms of friendship, I blew several opportunities, but it was as if blowing opportunities was what I was after. It was what I wanted! This kid, American, but very nice kid, invited me over to hang out repeatedly. I refused every time until one day he smartly ditched me! And there were one or two phone calls which I also blew off. It soon became evident “I stood alone.” At least outside of school. In class, I was friendly with every one. The only “crowd” I accepted were the foreign kids, but we almost never got together. Perhaps we can presume that I rejected all opportunities that came my way, because I never wanted to be at this damn school in the first place. God knows I wanted to go back to my old school. Or perhaps we can say I simply hated this school, for the way it was, regardless of my old school. Whatever the case may be, nothing was going right; a cloud hung over me, and it would take the whole school year to adjust. In 8th grade, I got better spiritually. Though I dreaded giving speeches three days in advance, I got over my fear of public speaking. I never did any sports, but I have no one to blame for that but myself. I had few friends but again that’s by my own short coming. Though my heart was broken by leaving Ridgeview, now I no longer hated being at Jones. I don’t remember how my brother fared at the high school; he must have fared better than me I suppose.
George Shetuni 